


an exercise in unfavorable moralities

by agivise



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: AND more murder???, Gen, Look man, all im sayin is, and the most stream-y of consciousnesses, jacobi has definitely killed a man, literally the least reliable narrator, oops! all character study, this is a textbook case of "my dumb writing", this one just happens to be his first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agivise/pseuds/agivise
Summary: jacobi kills a man, and it's super not an accident.





	an exercise in unfavorable moralities

**Author's Note:**

> big ol warnings for blood and extreme panic and death as if that wasn't remarkably clear from the tags  
> look man i know i said i'd write something cheesy and fluffy with no murder  
> this ain't that  
> but i swear i'll get to it eventually  
> and obviously i couldn't resist a wtnv reference fuck
> 
> today's song recs: destination breakdown by digitalism and drugs by ratatat

there’s blood on your hands why is there blood on your hands where are you where are you where—

you desperately slip your phone from your pocket with your left hand and shit shit _shit_ now there’s blood on that too, you’ll have to scrub that off later, maybe if you fucking remembered to bring the rag you use to clean your glasses, god _damn it_ —

your phone says it’s eight pm? since fucking when is it eight pm you checked your phone two fucking minutes ago and it was six it was fucking _six_ —maybe the time zone tracker just glitched, yeah, that makes sense, but _no,_ that doesn’t make sense at fucking all, idiot, it’s dark out now and two hours ago you were in the car not _here_ where is here where are you where are—

it takes you almost blacking out to realize you’re hyperventilating.

bits and pieces of your missing time slip back into your memory like chipped puzzle pieces, no, more like perfect pieces of a milk puzzle, so fuzzy, and hey, you sorta remember what you’re doing here—you had a job, your second field job with major kepler, just like the first except not at all, nope, no bombs to diffuse this time around, no god in the machine to stop you from dying with eight seconds left on the timer and—wait, why are _you_ here again? something about field experience, throwing you in the deep end, trial by fire, see something, say nothing, drink to forget—yeah, that sounds right. that sounds like something the major would say.

you— _son of a bitch_ —you drop your phone on the ground and _great_ now that’s probably scratched _and_ all smudged with blood and—wait, blood? oh, yes, the blood. the blood? whose—why is there—

you pick up your phone and the knife (knife knife knife that’s _your_ knife, why is your knife on the ground and not folded up in your jacket pocket like it alwa— _ground_ why was it on the ground and why didn’t major kepler pick up your knife for you? that seems a bit rude of him and he doesn’t normally act rude. like, despotic and icy, sure, but not rude, not that you’ve seen—)

kepler? ah, kepler is here. good. major kepler will explain why there’s blood on your hands. he likes explaining things to you. he likes to really draaaag out those explanations. except he’s not explaining anything this time, he’s just crossing his arms and looking pleasantly surprised and mildly amused by the body you’re standing over—

oh, god, there’s a body, you’re standing over a man’s body, is he dead? is that _his_ blood? who killed this man is he even dead you drop to the ground and press your hands hard over the shredded remains of his carotid, _jesus,_ that’s a lot of blood that’s a _lot_ of blood and it’s still warm he could still be alive you can still—

kepler laughs at you.

(and swats your hands away

from the dead man’s

macerated throat.)

wait

no

no no no oh god oh _no,_ you remember now, _you_ killed this man, this man is dead and you _killed_ him, you slit his fucking throat, and that’s—that’s weird—your arm hurts—feels cold—

there sure is a lot of blood on your hands.

“why did i kill this man?” you calmly ask major kepler,

and he gives you a winning smile

(and some heavily exaggerated air quotes)

as he says, in his most charmless tone of voice, “self defense.”

arm—your arm—

you need

a bandage

you clutch at the through-and-through bullet skim to your bicep, sickened by the rush of a heartbeat there. that much—that much arm meat should probably not be visible and oh god oh _christ_ it hurts it hurts it—

“i need—please help.”

“that was… entirely unnecessary.”

liar liar _liar_ that man would’ve—you couldn’t— “he _shot_ me. i—he shot me.”

“yes. i… _noticed._ i just meant, mister jacobi, that i coulda killed him for you, if i’d have known you’d react so… unfavorably.” his voice is smooth and slow like pomegranate syrup, and you can feel your pulse matching its speed ever so slightly. it’s nice. real nice. your arm is not nice. you pull yourself up to a semi-standing position and scrub your hands across the fabric of your shirt.

major kepler rolls his eyes and slings an arm around your waist to keep you upright as he begins the trek back to the car. your footprints are startlingly free of blood— did you really manage to not step in any of it? that’s good. that’s nice.

“just be grateful,” kepler purrs, “that he chose to shoot you on our way _out._ i’ve got the flashdrive. let’s get to the car.”

“i was shot,” you repeat to yourself, “and i killed someone.”

“no complaining. it’s barely a scratch. you can fix it up once we’re back in the motel room.”

you nod.

“do you know how to tie sutures?” he asks, and the flicker of his eyes to yours lets you know quite clearly that your absence, your instability, does not go unnoticed.

you shake your head.

“i’m sure you can find a youtube tutorial,” he states unpleasantly. “maybe a wikihow.”

your whole body is shaking. _bad._ have you been like this the whole time? is that why he’s holding on so tight to you?

you put on your most pleading glance as he catches your eye again, his fingers tensing steady on your waist once he reads your expression. his apathy is melting away. it’s unsettling— and fantastically endearing.

“y’know what?” he continues. “i can go ahead and teach you. i’d rather you not fuck it up and get yourself landed in the goddard med bay. that would mean one _hell_ of a stack of paperwork for me to fill out.”

“i just slit that man’s throat,” you repeat, voice strained and tremoring to the point of being practically unrecognizable as it echoes in your ears.

“yes, you did. you’ve killed people before, you know.”

 _“not— intentionally,”_ you manage to bite out.

“you did a fantastic job, really. a bit messy, but very quick, very quiet, despite what he did to your arm.” kepler pauses in what might be thought. “i’d rather you not let mr. cutter know about this natural affinity of yours. he’d steal you away from me in a heartbeat and stick you on an assassin team instead, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

the terrifyingly fond smile on his lips lets you know he’s only slightly joking.

“this company is _weird,”_ you note, and dizzily lean damn near the entirety of your weight against him.

 _“you’re_ weird, mister jacobi,” he corrects.

he doesn’t push you away. you like this man. (you wonder, distantly, how many people he’s killed.)

he tosses you a bottle of aspirin from the glove compartment. you would’ve preferred a bottle of gin, sure, but it’s a step in the right direction.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so so much! comments mean the absolute world <3


End file.
